


The world in five senses

by Eledhwen



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Character Study, F/M, Gen, Senses, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 16:38:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17227583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eledhwen/pseuds/Eledhwen
Summary: Sight: his father's face.Smell: the churches of New York.Hearing: Foggy Nelson's voice.Taste: Karen Page's lips.Touch: Elektra's skin against his.The five senses, all telling Matt Murdock different things.





	The world in five senses

**Sight**

The last thing Matthew Murdock remembers seeing is the terrified face of the old man he pushes out of the way, as the truck carrying a load of chemicals careers out of control. Afterwards, he will never remember what made him move that way.

He remembers walking along the street on a blue New York day, the bright colours of the traffic and of people’s clothes, and then seeing the truck come hurtling around a corner – and the old man, crossing the road.

But the image he keeps in his mind for longer than anything, although this too will fade in time, is his father’s face. Rough stubble, and blue eyes, and the scars from all those boxing injuries. Matt will remember, for a while, how his father watched him as he carefully stitched up a cut or wiped blood from his face.

He will recall the look in Jack Murdock’s eyes when he came home with a good report from school, when he pitched a ball on the softball field, when they were just together, doing the stuff dads did with their sons.

But the memory of sight lost can only be held for so long. Jack Murdock’s face vanishes, merging with that of the old man, and then it is gone, and Matthew cannot remember seeing anything but burning.

 

* * *

**Smell**

The hospital is carbolic soap, antiseptic, blood and illness. Matthew wakes with his eyes stinging but his nose full of the stench of sickness. It overwhelms him, more than the roar of sound around him, more than the rasp of the coarse sheets under his skin. He retches, and that smell too is mixed with the others.

At home, the apartment smells of his father’s cheap cologne, of vegetables cooked for just a bit too long. Of the sweat lingering on Jack’s boxing gloves, an overtone mixing with the leather. Matthew likes that smell; when Jack is out sometimes he’ll lift the gloves to his nose and breath it in deeply.

The orphanage smells of children, and soap, but better than the hospital. There is plenty of bleach, and furniture polish and brass cleaner. The nuns carry a scent mostly of laundry, their habits always clean. Sometimes one of them smells a little of gin, or whiskey.

In church, he is surrounded by the odour of incense, wax candles burning, and the wood and varnish of the rosaries in congregants’ hands. The smells merge into a whole, like a comforting blanket warm and strong enough to block out the rest of the world. Matthew discovers most churches carry a similar perfume and he begins to seek it out, letting his nose guide him from one to another through the city.

By the time he leaves Columbia, and is wearing a mask most nights, he thinks he could pretty much get around Manhattan purely through navigating from church to church by his nose alone. He can pick out when he’s close to the Croatian church by the different incense they use. If he strays into Midtown, the incense fades and the candles are made from another sort of wax, at the Baptist church and the community church. The Episcopal church uses more flowers, and the actors’ church always has an overtone of makeup and paint.

But Clinton Church will always be his spiritual home, and as he sits for Mass he closes his useless eyes and inhales.

 

* * *

**Hearing**

Matt realises early on in their relationship – in fact, the first day – that he will be hearing a lot of Foggy Nelson’s voice. The man likes talking, and doesn’t seem to care that Matt himself says less.

Besides, Foggy has a nice voice. It’s warm, and friendly, and funny. It’s open in a way few voices are, and Matt imagines a warm, open face to match. They go for coffee, and exchange a few harmless undergrad stories. Turns out Foggy is also from Hell’s Kitchen, and Matt has even been to his family’s deli a few times.

He learns quickly that if he wants silence to study in he needs to go to the library, even though it’s a pain carting his Braille keyboard with him. Sometimes he just lets Foggy’s chatter wash over him; other times he gives up on trying to study and joins in the jokes.

They talk about lots of stuff. About the work, for although Foggy can seem light-hearted he does care about becoming a good lawyer, and they are vying for top spot in the class. About music. About girls, although Foggy has a tendency to wax lyrical about their figures and Matt tends to judge more on what they sound like and smell like. About what they’ll do after school’s finished.

By the second year, Foggy’s voice sounds like home to Matt, and he can’t imagine a day without hearing it, without bickering with his friend or laughing with him.

It seems only natural they go to the same firm for their internships. It’s not like Matt needs Foggy to get around, but people seem to think that he does. But it doesn’t feel quite right.

He’s mostly serious when he suggests they quit and set up alone. From Foggy’s voice, he’s worried that he’s misjudged this one, but then the timbre changes to acceptance.

Nelson & Murdock. They both like the sound of that.

 

* * *

**Taste**

Matt’s wondered what Karen would taste like from pretty early on in their friendship. He likes her voice, and he likes her subtle, vaguely vanilla-y scent, but he’s lain awake at night thinking about what she’d be like under his lips.

She isn’t the first woman he’s thought about this way. When he was an undergrad there was Luisa, who sounded like she ought to taste of chocolate and chilli and turned out to taste mostly of the wine she’d drunk that night. In his first year Simone, who Foggy had informed him was genuinely a catch, was sweet and salty at once and good fun for a few nights.

But it’s not a good idea to date a co-worker. It’s an even worse idea to obsess over what she might taste like, and so Matt tries to focus on the things that matter – the new vigilante in town, winning some cases, navigating Foggy’s knowledge of Daredevil.

The night Frank Castle is arrested, and they go to Josie’s, he feels almost at ease with life. They drink Josie’s slightly sour beer and her cheap whiskey and when they go outside the rain is falling. He sticks out his tongue and feels the cool, acidic water wash away a little of the alcohol.

Somehow the time is right, when they stop outside his apartment. It’s easy to reach out and bring his lips to hers.

She tastes of rain, first, and then the booze, and the chips they’d snacked on. But then she tastes somehow entirely of herself as well. It’s not what he’d imagined, yet it’s exactly what he’d dreamed of.

 

* * *

**Touch**

Nobody has ever felt like Elektra feels. Their hands have touched, before now, and there’s always been a current like electricity when that’s happened. But now, as he dodges her blow, traps her against him, he can feel her whole body vibrating against his, her heart beating under his arms. He can hear her arousal, practically taste it, but most of all he can feel it in every fibre of her.

They exchange a few more attacks, but Matt already knows what’s coming. He wants to get skin to skin, as fast as possible, to run his hands through her impossibly silky hair and have hers on his body. His world contracts into feeling as she sinks down on to him, hot and slick and all he’s ever wanted.

Matt never forgets that sensation of her body, her hands, against his skin. Even when she’s gone, and he’s finding other women, none of them ever feel the same way. Having Elektra back by his side, that feels right – the way she fights, the way she runs a hand over a bruise.

He tries to resist, tries to tell himself she’s not what he wants, not what he _needs_ , but then he wakes in the mornings hard and aching and longing for her touch. His own hand takes the immediate need away, but the feeling is only temporary.

They fight, and make up, and she betrays him, and comes back to them, and still every touch makes his heart jump. There is no way he can give this up – and yet, he must. In his arms, as she dies, she feels light and insubstantial. The current between them is still there, but Matt can feel it fading rapidly. Soon it’ll be gone.


End file.
